Manchild
by Pipsy
Summary: In the aftermath of an unspeakable event, 12 yr old Spencer struggles to keep his family together and to hide a secret that could rip them apart. Discontinued story. Warnings: very dark material, including child rape, cutting, and attempted suicide.


**Author's Notes:** All standard author's notes apply. In addition, I do not condone cutting or any other kind of self-mutilization, illegal acts, smoking, fornication, or any other such acts that may be depicted in this story. The first chapter/prologue is centered quite strongly on an OC but the rest will be focused on Spencer; I just needed to get the set-up out and for an idea of who this OC that has such a profound affect on Spencer is in order for the rest of the story to flow properly with the way he deals with things later. This chapter contains subject matter that may be disturbing or triggering for some, including cutting, attempted suicide, and child rape- all of which are depicted with varying levels of detail.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Criminal Minds" or any of its characters or plots and no copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made.

**Summary:** After an unspeakable event, young Spencer struggles to adapt, faced with responsibilities and hardships he'd never fathomed. Yet he discovers tenderness after the cruelty and hope after the despair, but can he keep his family together? Warnings for early chapters include cutting, child rape, attempted suicide, and dark subject matter.

**Manchild**

**Prologue- The Drummer's Judgement**

**Las Vegas, Nevada. April 13 1993**

Rebeckah tugged at her long black sleeves that covered her arms, pulling the ends further over her knuckles but never feeling covered enough. She chewed her lip at the thought of what was under the sleeves- the delicate thin lines that ran the length of her arms, the scabs and the scars alike- and momentarily craved the release cutting gave her. But she couldn't do it here, in the middle of the crowded school hall, and she immediately took the next left, knowing there was a bathroom nearby. She had a razor on her- she always did- and the craving grew as she neared the bathroom, her pulse and pace alike quickening with need. She pushed open the door when she arrived at last, only to stop in the threshold at the sight of the three bubbly teens touching up their makeup and admiring their reflections in the mirror as they laughed. Becky's stomach tightened and her brow narrowed, not moving or reacting in any way as she stared disdainfully at the girls who were invading what needed to be a private space, and knew it wouldn't do. Even in a stall, she'd still hear their gratingly cheerful voices and her release would be tempered.

One of the girls finally noticed her standing in the doorway and stopped applying her lipstick long enough to turn her head to regard Rebeckah with an icy glare. "Excuse me? Do you have a problem?" she asked, feigning politeness with her words but not her tone.

Becky didn't bother answering but walked back out and closed the door. All the same she heard muffled snickering and someone uttering "freak" before she left, walking back down the hall she'd come from. She couldn't cut in the bathroom with other people there, but the craving wasn't gone- if anything, it was worse after the brief encounter with the girls and their biting regard of her- and she again began chewing her lip as she tried to think of somewhere else. There were other bathrooms, of course, but she wasn't in the mood to be turned away by the presence of other airheaded and condescending peers and she veered instead towards the library. It was a big library and she'd gone there to cut before, slipping between the little-used shelves of dusty books in the back for privacy and it would suit her needs now.

She made it there in a few minutes and slowed her pace only slightly when she entered the hushed room and passed between the tables where students with books and binders sat studying and the rows of computers that were quietly whiring with use. She noted the people present briefly only as it concerned her- no one particularly intolerable was there to disrupt her and most everyone was engrossed with their own business- and she strode along the familiar route to the back, sighing softly with relief when she reached the shelves. No one was there as it should be- this area was hers, or so she felt- and she darted only a quick last-second glance around her before pulling out the razor.

For a moment, Becky just stared at the blade, heart pounding as she studied the glistening silver with fascination and awe, at its sharp beauty, and was filled with joy at how perfectly it fit in her fingers... Then, trembling slightly with adrenaline and desire, she pushed up one of her sleeves, exposing the damaged flesh of her left arm. The aweful feeling she was always trying to escape had come back with brute force as the teenagers' laughter echoed in her ears and she heard them calling her a freak, hot acidic tears burning behind her eyes but unable to come out.

_Freak._ She was disgusting and abominable, they said- and were they wrong? What made them so great? What had she ever done to be called such things? Or was it just her; was she just _wrong,_ inside and out? Did it even matter? Look at what she was doing to herself, just to get away from that feeling that swallowed her up at home when she was with her sister- her older sister that was now forced to be her mother but certainly couldn't care less- or when she was alone to muse over her shortcomings and the faults of the world around her, or when she was in a crowded room and could only think that it was all just insanity she couldn't escape. That feeling dug into her and became a choked scream suffocating her...

But she'd discovered the blade and the cutting made it go away, gave her a sweet if brief release that allowed her to breathe and feel calm and at peace again. It made it go away to do just like this- and Becky brought the razor down on her arm with no hesitance and felt the sting of the edge opening her flesh in a tiny line- and then she could go on.

Becky bit her lip and tears that wouldn't fall formed at the corners of her eyes as she made another incision, watching the crimson rise with sorrow and delight. This made her feel better but part of her knew it was wrong, knew that it was sick to hurt herself and that it was horrible when the only comfort she could find in her life was in these moments of voluntary pain. But the release came and Becky sagged as the weight lifted, her knees nearly buckling as she slid against the shelves to the floor, trembling slightly with the flood of emotions rushing out of her... But never for long. It always came back.

Always.

After a minute, her breathing slowed and she allowed herself to bask in the risidual warmth and peace cocooning her like a mother's arms, her head tilted back against the shelves. And then she heard the voices. Quickly, she tucked the blade back in its secret place and pulled down her sleeves, the blood smearing, and stood, turning to peer through the shelves for the source of the voices. Her brow furrowed with incredulity at what she saw even as her muscles relaxed; the two individuals who held her attention were only passing by and not coming into her section. However, what she couldn't make since of was that it was Spencer Reid and Harper Hillman. Becky was vaguely familiar with both, although only by reputation, and she knew that the popular senior didn't keep company with likes of the twelve year old walking next to her, and vice-versa. So what were they doing together now?

Normally, Becky wouldn't care what Harper or anyone else in the school was doing or who they were hanging out with, but Spencer was a freak like her and that fact had always made her somewhat intrigued by him, even if it had never leant her any major lasting sympathy towards him for his circumstances or the bullying he frequently suffered. After all, he at least had a way out of this life, unlike her and most everyone else in this school who, despite beauty or popularity, would probably end up swimming in the vast sea of mediocrity at best. Becky had no notion that her life would turn out half so well as to be just mediocre and, for that, she carried a bitterness and envy for every student in the school and especially for Spencer Reid.

However, for now the little boy was stuck with his less-gifted peers and, from Becky's understanding, his life was a mess; his mother was crazy and his dad was gone and Becky was sure he didn't have a single real friend in the school and the jocks loved nothing more than to taunt and torture him. She appreciated what it was to be on the outside but, for the fact that he was going to leave this place one day and succeed to greatness while she sank further and further into the mire of destitution and disgrace, her sympathies were limited.

Her fascination, on the other hand, was not and she watched with curiosity as Spencer followed Harper out of the library, their hushed voices indecipherable to her from the distance. Without conscious thought, Becky left the section she'd been hiding in and tailed the two cautiously, trying to discern what was going on. Spencer seemed nervous and a little wary as he clutched his heavy backpack over one shoulder, darting glances up at the teenager who appeared unconcerned and friendly, and Becky heard him questioning Harper- probably not for the first time. Harper brushed it off, flashing one of her brilliant smiles, and her bouncy chocolate locks tossed about her shoulders. Spencer didn't look eased but kept following...

A few minutes later, they arrived at their destination and all of Becky's questions fled from her mind as she watched from behind the corner of the fieldhouse, the football team Spencer clearly had not been expecting stepping towards the frightened boy with malicious grins. Hands came out and started shoving as they name-called him while others congratulated themselves on their ruse and rubbed it in Spencer's face. Spencer made valiant attempts to get away but each time was prevented and, no matter how much he talked or reasoned, he couldn't get them to recant. Fists and feet assaulted him and, by now lying on the ground, the boy curled himself tightly into a ball, trying to protect himself.

From her place, Becky observed the boy's suffering and the jocks' cruelity with clinical interest, wondering at the display before her and what the meaning of it all was- what satisfaction the jocks got out of it and what affects it had on the boy and how it switched their respective roles? She felt a tinge of happiness that it wasn't her getting hurt, that someone else could feel so low, but also a faint measure of sadness for the boy who'd done nothing to the jocks but be who he was to deserve this. For a moment, Becky had the notion she was watching herself- except both parties were her, the one hating the other and the other miserable and cowering helplessly in fear- and she desperately tried to make sense of it as she watched, eager to know the outcome even if she could already predict it; the noble but weak boy lost to the malevolent and stronger teenagers.

The boy was carried off to the football field and again Becky followed from a safe distance, hiding behind the bleachers as Spencer's clothes were ripped off and his pleas were ignored. Rope was brought out and he was tied up to the goalpost, the jocks laughing and cheering. Becky felt an emptiness swell within her, a deep void that lurked in the back of her mind at all times but that threatened to emerge and consume her one day, and she swallowed hard against it but couldn't banish it from her being. Part of her wanted to walk away from the scene but she couldn't seem to make herself, the other part of her enraptured and telling her this was important even if she didn't understand exactly why.

It just _was_.

The need to cut tugged at her again but, despite the razor's easy access, she ignored it, knowing that it wouldn't be enough this time to find release. Meanwhile, another strange thought had crept upon her as she stared at the young genius's exposed form and studied him inch by inch; he was desirable. It was so unexpected, the idea startled Becky and she was confused at its origin- after all, the boy was three years her junior, badly beaten, and scrawny, and it was hardly the first time she'd seen those parts of the male anotomy. Her sister was always bringing guys over and was rarely discreet about what they did and, even though she herself was a virgin, Becky probably knew more about sex than most of the senior girls. So what was it that made the crying, terrified boy so desirable all of a sudden?

Then it finally occured to her; it was his pain.

Becky shivered, chewing her lip as the need blossomed with the realization that made her want to bring that pain closer to her and release what was inside of her through him. How many times had she seen or heard her sister finding release the same way? Was it better than cutting? Would it last longer or get out more? Becky didn't know and the thought made her a little queasy but, even as she fought to push it away, she kept watching the boy and the feeling persisted. None of the guys in the school ever looked at her except to laugh or make fun of her or cringe, but why should she be alone? Spencer was an outcast too and knew what it was like and, with all that he was going through right now, maybe he needed release, too? It worked for her sister- why not for them?

Her thoughts became more and more consumed by the idea until, like cutting, it was all she could think about, craving the touch that would give her freedom, and she imagined what it would be like as she observed Spencer from afar. At last, the jocks left but Becky remained unmoving for long minutes, her heart pounding with anticipation and fear and her limbs stiff from their prolonged position and tension, before she walked out from behind the bleachers. Spencer's attention was on her immediately and he asked for her help.

A nervous knot in her chest kept her from replying right away but, when she neared and stopped in front of him, her eyes caught on the tears on his face. Slowly, she reached up and touched them, fascinated by the warm wetness on her fingers- like blood, except thinner and clear instead of crimson. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, shifting her focus to his gaze. Her hand remained on his cheek as he nodded.

"Y-yeah. I will be. Can you untie me?" he requested again.

Becky nodded. "Sure." Moving around him, she began to work at the ropes circling his wrists. As she undid the knots, she felt compelled to ask; "Do you think they hate you? Or, do you think... they hate themselves?" She didn't know the purpose of the question but, all the same, she waited raptly for his answer.

The boy was silent for a moment before replying, as if weighing his responses, and then told her some statistics about bullying and gave clinical explinations and the psychology behind it. Becky didn't know the numbers or terms, but the general concept wasn't new; bullies hurt others to make themselves feel better, to assert their dominance, and to quell their fears, whether in regards to things they didn't understand or the person they were bullying or in regards to something in their lives they were less capable of fighting. There was also a pack mentality often times and people feared breaking from the pack even when they didn't agree with what was going on and so gave in to peer pressure. It wasn't really anything Becky didn't already know, but she listened anyway and silently wondered what it meant if someone was their own bully...

When the last knot came undone, the boy stumbled slightly but didn't fall and Becky came back around in front of him again. He was bent over in an effort to cover himself and was rubbing his wrists; Becky stood a foot away, staring at him. "Does it hurt?" she asked, hiding her maschochistic pleasure at the thought but only barely.

"They're a little sore." Spencer admitted. "My ribs are worse."

Indeed, Becky could already see the bruising forming on the pale flesh over his chest and abdomen and she imagined the pain each breath must cause as she studied the movements of his chest. "Are they broken?"

Straightening a little and touching one of his sides, he grimaced as he inspected his ribs. "I don't think so." he said at last, though his voice was tight. "Maybe fractured, but it's hard to be sure without an x-ray. It doesn't really matter, since doctors can't do anything for broken or fractured ribs."

It was a strange notion to Becky that someone could have something broken inside of them that people knew about but no one did anything to fix, yet it also seemed to make sense and she easily believed it with a tinge of horror and sadness. Lending him an arm, she helped Spencer as he took a step away from the pole and he looked around the football field.

"Would you mind helping me get my clothes?" he asked, the garments scattered and thrown about on the field and bleachers and his pants hanging from the goal post.

Becky's heart pounded, knowing this was it- now or never- and she bit her lip before taking a step closer to him. He immediately backed away but Becky was undaunted. "Spencer, can I ask you something?" she requested, running her hand to his shoulder and then across to his chest.

The boy shivered slightly and his eyes were wide with distrust and fear, but he didn't move. "Y-yes." he stammered.

A smile pulled at Becky's lips at his cooperation and her hand found its way up to his neck and then jaw. "Have you ever kissed a girl?" she asked.

Spencer was stunned and confused and took another step back, only to have Becky follow him in time, and he shook his head. "No." he replied, his voice constricted again but this time not with pain.

"Me neither." Becky admitted. She wondered why she was drawing this out when she knew what she wanted. Her sister was always telling her not to ask but to take what she wanted, to get it for herself or do it for herself and to not let anyone or anything get in her way, and her sister had certainly showed her more than once how to do it, shoplifting and cheating her way out of problems and being demanding everywhere she went. _Just take what you want_, Becky coached herself.

She closed the space between them and leaned in to claim his lips with hers. He didn't respond to the kiss but didn't try to break away either and she felt the warmth of his mouth and the stickiness of his blood from a cut. Becky wasn't sure what she'd expected but she wasn't disappointed and, when she pulled back to look at the boy, she smiled. "Did it make it any better? Does it not hurt as bad?" she asked softly, her own answer already formed.

"B-Becky, I really should get home." Spencer said, trying to push away from her. "My mom's waiting and I have a history class project due on Friday that I need to finish. Thank you for your help." He tried to pull out of her grasp again but she had his arm now and she kept him tight to her. "Becky?" he entreated again, the fear and desperation in his eyes growing. "Please, let me go..."

Instead, Becky wrestled him to the ground, pressing her lips on his again when he was affectively pinned beneath her. He was just being difficult and didn't know what was good for him, but he'd realize how much he wanted it as soon as she started.

Spencer was struggling and when she ended their second kiss she remained bent close to his face. "Have you ever thought about being with a woman? It's supposed to make you feel really good; don't you want to feel good?" she inquired, revealing her intentions.

Horrified at what the older girl was suggesting, Spencer increased his efforts to get away. "I'm okay; I don't need any help! Please, let me up!"

When Becky refused, the genius began spouting off facts about sex and its physiological affects, the medical and emotional dangers, and all the reasons they were too young to engage in such activity. But Becky knew she needed it for release- a release she wouldn't find this time by cutting- and she was deaf to his reasoning as she began to shed her clothes, careful to keep the boy who would experience the release with her pinned. He would know and understand that she was right in the end, he would know as she did that this was what needed to happen. The horrible void inside of her was suffocating now and the desire for escape was overwhelming, controling every thought and action.

By the time Becky was disrobed, the boy was crying and she leaned close to hush him. "It'll be okay. We're going to feel so good." she promised. Then, recalling everything she'd seen and learned from her sister and her sister's boyfriends, she got Spencer ready. It didn't take long and she hushed the distressed youth again. He begged for her to stop, for her to let him go, but again she ignored him. She gasped sharply at the pain, but then smiled happily. She liked pain, the way pain made her feel and the way it emptied her, and she liked this pain because it was stronger and more profound than the stinging blade. She cherished every moment of agony, doing everything she could to make the hurt worse, and tears slid down her cheeks. Spencer was still telling her to stop, but she didn't believe the requests that were interrupted by the sounds of his pleasure, and so she didn't, feeling those terrible things inside of her going out and away from her and that horrible void filling...

Yes, she decided, this was much better than cutting.

Suddenly, the boy jerked and something rushed into her, making Becky stop and stare at the boy in confusion until memories of her sister's boyfriends replayed in her head and she finally figured out what it was. Then her brow furrowed with another realization and her heart pounded- this time with worry; she hadn't used protection.

**MCMCMC**

Two months had passed since that day on the football field and Becky had hardly been able to look at herself in the mirror. After the desire was gone, after the release had run its course, she'd been left with the realization of what she'd done and the truth of what she was. She was a horrible person, a rapist- a _child_ rapist!- and she deserved to suffer.

Her cutting had gotten worse and the release was harder to find, her guilt and grief overwhelming her even as she bled. She wanted to punish herself; sometimes, she even wanted to die. She didn't know what held her back from ending it, but she was convinced now she was the scum and freak everyone had always said her to be and her tears trembled into the sink as she looked at her reflection. Her dark hair was wild, her gothic makeup was smeared, and her eyes were pools of helplesness and anguish. But she deserved it. She was a horrible person, a freak and a rapist... and now she was pregnant.

The small rectangular object in her hands gave clear proof of that, as did the symptoms she'd been experiencing the last two months; fatigue, neasua, missed periods, and tender breasts. At first she'd thought it was in her head or it was because of her guilt and she'd dismissed the signs, not believing one experience with one boy- _not even a man!_- could produce such results. That was the main reason she hadn't worried much after she'd realized she hadn't used protection, because she figured that it had to be pretty unlikely...

But it had happened. She was pregnant. She was fifteen and pregnant off from a twelve-year old boy she'd raped on an impulse. And she was disgusting! She hated herself! And now she wanted to die, _deserved_ to die for what she'd done...

Switching out the pregnancy test that she'd bought with cash she'd stolen from her sister with the blade- the oh, so familiar blade!- she pushed up her sleeves but only past her wrists. She didn't need to go further- not this time- and she sobbed harshly as her shaking hand descended to her flesh, searching for an artery. Even though she hated herself and she knew she deserved to suffer, she was afraid of it lasting long, of that void coming for her and being unable to escape it as she died. She wanted it to be quick, and that meant being accurate.

Carefully, she made the first insision, feeling a sharp sting. Blood spilled over her fingers but she made a second cut on the same wrist to make sure, stiffling a cry as the blade went deep. The sink was quickly filled with red spots gathering in the base and she switched hands, hot tears running down her cheeks with the burning regret that her life had turned out like this. For a moment as her bloody hand hung over the remaining unmarked wrist, she wondered what her life could have been like if she'd been somebody else, been born into a different family or a different place or the things that were wrong inside of her were fixed. She enviously pictured being one of those bubbly teens she despised so much, with their beauty and their popularity and their easy happiness...

It didn't matter, because she could never be one of those girls, and she brought the blade down on her wrist...

**MCMCMC**

_Failure_, she thought as she stared at the dotted ceiling of the hospital; she'd failed. Couldn't she do anything right! How had her sister found her? She wasn't supposed to come home for hours and by then Becky would have been dead. Even considering that Liz had found her, it was still somewhat surprising that she'd called 911 and more suprising that she'd bound Becky's wrists while she waited for the ambulance to arrive. If she hadn't, Becky would be gone now. If Liz had been just a few minutes later, Becky would have succeeded... what were the odds of her failing like this?

And now she was in the hospital being forced to talk to doctors and pyschiatrists and explain why she'd done what she'd done, even though she wouldn't mention the rape. They'd found out about the pregnancy, of course; she'd left the test in plain sight and the doctors had done bloodwork to confirm it and an ultrasound was being ordered to make sure the fetus was still healthy after her suicide attempt. Becky had to admit, she hadn't really thought about killing the baby along with herself. The baby didn't really deserve to die, did it, even if she did? It couldn't help the way it was made and, while she could condemn it for being a part of her, she had to give it allowances for being a part of Spencer. _He_ wasn't a bad person; maybe the baby would be like him instead, have his future and not hers... Didn't it at least deserve the chance?

Sighing, she decided it probably didn't matter what she thought anymore as her sister entered the room with a dark scowl on her face and sat down in the visitor's chair next to Becky's bed. Becky knew that it would be Liz's decision what happened to the baby now and not her own, and she couldn't see Liz wanting to put up with a baby. The terrible feeling clamped in her chest and the maw of the void yawned inside her but, aware she couldn't cut here, she fought against it to look at her sister with resignation. Tears threatened to assualt her eyes but she didn't want her sister to see them and held them back- but only barely- and she waited for Liz to break the silence.

Liz was clearly unhappy and she studied Becky with disgust for a long moment before saying anything. Finally, she snorted, leaning back in the chair. "Well, fine mess you got yourself in! You know what the bill for this is going to be?"

Of course, it shouldn't have come as any surprise that Liz was more concerned about money than the fact her little sister had tried to kill herself, but for some reason it still stung. "You could've let me die." she pointed out, a little desperately.

"And be stuck with the funeral bills instead and lose my wellfare?" Liz snorted again, dashing any hope that she'd been motivated by affection or love. "Fine choice there! But I'm going to ride you for this one and you're going to pay me back every cent, one way or another!"

Becky nodded submissively. "I understand." she complied, although her throat was constricted and her voice cracked slightly.

Liz's scowl deepened but Becky knew her well enough to tell she was somewhat placated. "You better." she muttered. Fishing out a cigerate from her purse, she put it between her lips and lit the end. Smoke trailed off from the butt in a thin line and the embers burned as Liz enhaled, blowing out a puff of the poisonous air a second later. Becky was grateful for the brief silence, but it ended quickly as Liz finished the first puff, her hostility returning with a flare as she seemed to remember something. "And what's all this about you being pregnant? _Huh?_ How could you be so dumb! I thought I taught you better than that!" she haurranged.

Becky didn't speak- how could she? Liz was right and she couldn't deny any of it, and she averted her gaze with shame.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Liz barked, leaning forward into Becky's line of vision, making the younger girl look up at her. "Who is he? Do you even know!"

Realizing what she was implying and not wanting Liz to think that of her incorrectly, Becky roused herself to reply, although it was barely a whisper. "A boy at school... I only did it once." she said, chosing her words carefuly as tears pricked her eyes and this time slid free, remembering exactly what she'd done.

Satisfied that she'd gotten a response, Liz leaned back in her chair again. "Well, once was enough, wasn't it? Did you at least use protection?" she snarled.

Reluctantly, Becky slightly shook her head. "No. It happened... quickly."

Liz huffed loudly, drawing on the cigerate again as she rolled her eyes. "I always knew you were stupid." she rebuked contemptously. Blowing out the smoke- practically in Becky's face- she sputtered, "Was it worth it? Huh?"

More tears leaked free and Becky bit her lip. "No." she answered, although there was no way for Liz to understand the source of her regret. When Liz didn't say anything right away but kept smoking, Becky mustered herself to ask the question she'd been waiting for her sister to bring up, her chest tight with dread. "Are you going to make me get rid of it?"

Liz's brow narrowed and she shot Becky a hard glare. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? No," she pronounced decidedly, "I'm not wasting the money. You're going to learn from your mistakes and carry this brat, and then give it up when its done!"

"Give it up?" Becky repeated, shock at Liz's answer confusing her momentarily.

"For adoption!" Liz snapped like she was an idiot. "You don't think I'm feeding another mouth, do you? And like you're going to take care of it!" she scoffed.

Becky nodded her understanding and, as she processed what that meant, figured she should be releived for the baby's sake but instead only felt fear. Having a baby meant carrying it, feeling it inside of her- what would that be like?- and going through terrible physical changes and pain... Of course, Becky liked pain, but what about the birth? Would that be too much or, because it was a pain she couldn't control, would it be the wrong kind of pain- the bad pain? A shiver of terror went up her spine at the prospect of carrying the child and then going through labor, as well as at the thoughts she might have while pregnant. Every day she carried it inside of her, she would be reminded of what she'd done- every second of every hour until it was over- and would the physical emptiness left over be at all like the horrible void she feared? It was strange how just moments ago she'd been hoping desperately that Liz wouldn't make her get rid of it but, now that her wish had been granted, the reality of having the baby terrified her.

Wasn't that so much of why she'd ended up in the hospital in the first place- aside from the terrible act she'd commited that had created the baby; the thought of what might happen next?

Becky closed her eyes, feeling the need to escape and again aching for the blade that would give her release but which she was denied. _You deserve this_, Becky reminded herself, _you did this. You're a horrible person- a freak who robs little boys of their innocence and virginity and who feels pleasure only in the company of pain. You're a disgusting and loathsome creature and you deserve all of this and more for what you've done and for being the filth that you are..._

Tears soaked into her pillow but Becky scrubbed them from her cheeks, knowing she didn't have the right to cry. She listened as her sister continued to sputter and she replied when necessary, Liz never once voicing any thought that could be construde as concern or affection or even asking why Becky had tried to kill herself. Eventually a doctor came back in with the ultrasound machine and his first curt remark to Liz was that smoking wasn't allowed in the hospital. Less than pleased with the man's tone, she reluctantly snuffed out the cigerate, muttering angrily to herself as the doctor set up the machine and explained to Becky what he was going to do. Becky nodded and, when he was finished, he pulled up her gown to expose her flat stomach. For a second, she stared at it, marveling that there was a life hidden inside, a baby- _her_ baby- but it was too surreal for her to fully grasp.

Then the doctor squirted clear jelly onto her stomach and she flinched a little at the coldness. The doctor smiled and remarked that one day they would have to find a way to make the jelly warmer without turning it into liquid, then put the wand on her stomach. His attention turned to the monitor next to the bed as he moved the wand and searched for the tiny fetus. Becky's heart was pounding again as she waited, and then he finally stilled.

"Ah, there it is!" he announced cheerfully.

"Where?" Becky asked, craning her neck to try to see it on the monitor.

The doctor pointed to a small oval towards the bottom of the screen. "Right there; see that?"

Shaped like a kidney bean with thin lines at the middle and bottom- the arms and legs- her eyes fixed on the newly-formed fetus in disbelief. _That_ was a baby? _That_ little thing? Inside of her? _Her_ baby? Becky floundered for cohesive thought but could only gape at the image on the screen.

"I'd say you're at about nine weeks, give or take a couple of days. Does that fit?" he asked, turning to her.

Becky's attention remained locked on the tiny oval but she nodded, knowing the exact date although not caring to communicate it.

The doctor regarded the screen again and moved around the wand a little to get different views. "As far as I can tell, everything looks good. Placenta levels are normal, uteris membrane is intact, there's no fetal distress..." he told her, then smiled. "Your baby has a very strong heart."

That caught Becky's attention and, surprised, she looked up to the doctor. "Heart?" she repeated.

"Uh-huh. See that little pulsating dot?" he replied, pointing again- this time to a speck within the tiny oval. Becky's breath bated and her head swam, the fact that it was a real living person that was growing inside of her hitting home and becoming real for the first time.

"Here, listen to this..." the doctor said, pressing a button and turning a knob, and suddenly the room was filled with a steady thumping that beated in time with the little pulsating speck on the screen.

"T-that's the heartbeat?" Becky asked, her voice quivering as fresh tears welled in her eyes.

The doctor nodded, smiling at her response. "Yup."

Becky stared at the screen and her ears were filled with the drumming, but the ache in her chest was not from joy but remorse and horror; it was_ real_. She'd done this by taking the innocence of a child and now a new life had been created that would come into this wretched world and experience the evils that Becky knew and suffer at the hands of cruel and indifferent people alike... How could she bring a baby into such a place- populated with creatures like her- and expose it to the terrible, cold void that Becky feared so much? This baby certainly wasn't going to be one of those popular girls or adored jocks that fit in and seemed to float on air to rise above it all- not when its parents were both freaks and its mother was an abomination. What had she done? How could she have been so stupid and careless?

The tears burned as they spilled down her cheeks while she stared at the monitor and heard the rapid pounding of the baby's heart, but it sounded more like a judge's anvil to her as cold pain stabbed her chest. There would be no release this time, just the icy void that yawned before her and swallowed her whole from the inside...

**Please review! **

**Because this story has been abandoned, I'm just going to post what I had done of the first chapter here, although it isn't much. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter 1: Breathe the Water**

**Las Vegas, Nevada, April 13, 1993**

His footsteps thudded dully on the carpeted stairs, but his feet were like lead as he mechanically climbed, shivering despite the warmth of the house and keeping that one clear destination pictured in his mind. Everything else in his head was chaos, nothing made sense, and every inch of him ached with pain- of one sort or another. Words echoed callously in his ears, the flow of memories unconctrolable as events replayed themselves in no particular order.

_"Psycho Jr.!" "Little baby..." "Don't you want to feel good?" "Freak!"_

Another shiver ran up Spencer's body, the bathroom seeming miles away at the top of the stairs as he stared at the door with a certain disconnection, and he felt the hardness of fists and the tenderness of fingers alike connecting with his flesh. Bile rose as his stomach clenched, but he swallowed it back, the taste of acid lingering in his mouth. He just had to get to the bathroom, get to the shower, stay focused, keep moving... Tears stung the corners of his eyes but they were choked off from birth as shock cradled him, his chest tight with unprocessed horror and agony he couldn't begin to comprehend. Breathing was difficult but the effort to draw air was unnoticed, overlayed by too many other concerns, and Spencer was barely aware he was nearly suffocating except in a tiny corner in the back of his mind. The information was sent and recieved and dismissed as irrelevant in an instant as he focused on climbing the stairs, assaulting hands and feet and lips still everywhere on him as he felt and saw it all again.

Downstairs, his mother was working on assignments for her class, lost in the delusion she was still a fifteenth-century literature professor, and she'd neither recognized her son when Spencer had come home nor acknowledge his presense beyond asking if he'd prepared for the test. Spencer hadn't replied, too terrified and too ashamed and too hurt to cater to her delusions- and there was no point in trying to express to her what had happened or find comfort in her arms, his mom going back to scribbling in her books obliviously as he headed up. He was alone; he didn't know whether he wanted to be or not, but it didn't matter because there was no choice.

Finally, he reached the bathroom, turning on the bright florescent light and closing the door behind him. He made sure to lock it, staring at the knob distrustfully for a minute before hesitantly turning to the mirror. He didn't really want to see the reflection but it was there, staring back at him; a wide-eyed little boy with dirty tear-stained cheeks and unruly hair, a broken lip and black eye. But it was the change inside that he fancied was somehow visible that made him not recognize himself, knowing that whoever that person was in the mirror wasn't the same person as the one he'd seen that morning.

He studied the figure, as if it could put all the puzzle pieces together if he just worked at it long enough, but he only came back with muddled thoughts and sickening sensations, the tears silently begining to leak free as he wondered what made that person so deserving of what had been done to him. There was no answer, only the desperate cry that everything in his life that was so abnormal wasn't his fault.

**And that's all, folks. Sorry that this isn't finished and won't be, but I've lost the inspiration and I'm on to bigger and better things (like real writing that maybe I can get published someday) so I hope you enjoyed this and it was worth you time. (And sorry about the spelling mistakes- I couldn't find a spell-checker that didn't screw up my formatting.) Thanks! And pretty please review?**


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